20 MusicWeek 06.07.12 INTERVIEWSERGIOPIZZORNO
LET’S HEAR IT FOR THE QUIET ONE
After a plethora of psychedelic oddities from the fingers of guitarist Serge - and an increasingly leftfield 15 year career - why do people still regard Kasabian as ‘lad rock’?
TALENT BY TIM INGHAM
T
om Meighan can’t make up his mind whether or not his new Yellow Submarine T-shirt fits.
The Kasabian singer loves coming to see Barbara Charone at MBC PR - where
there’s always plenty of Beatles treasure to fondle. On this particular morning, it’s clothing: gratis cobalt blue swag promoting the release of the Fab Four’s newly- remastered cartoon classic. Yet something’s not quite right. “They
ordered me a fucking Large, mate,” he tells Music Week, pacing Charone’s office – an agitated panther in snug grey denims.
“They’re fucking HUGE these, BC!” He switches into a size
Small, but craves some sartorial reassurance. Despite only
meeting moments beforehand, he
beckons us to confirm his new garmet’s not too clingy. We oblige,
Serge speaks eloquently about his friendship
with Tom, his love for Sixties psych-freaks like The Pretty Things, his respect for mentor Noel Gallagher – and why, after 12 years of electronica- flecked songs and one particularly leftfield, weirdly commercially huge album (West Ryder Pauper Lunatic Asylum), people still dismiss his band as neanderthal pub rockers…
“I’ve learnt to use [the
perception of Kasabian as ‘lad rock’] as a weapon: the more
and he’s satisfied into quietness - for about 0.63 of a second. Suddenly startled by a flash of football-related recognition, he bear-hugs Charone, bouncing on the spot. “Fucking Champions League! I know it’s Chelsea, but fucking fair play, fair play!” Without pause, the motormouth Leicester City
you think that of me, the more fucked up I’m going to make
our sound. I’ll put eyeliner on, we’ll make tunes that sound
like Silver Apples, we’ll put out more stuff that freaks you out” SERGE PIZZORNO
fanatic whizzes out of the door, mumbling about Kasabian’s new tour bus being “weird” and how he’s busting for a piss. Meanwhile, Tom is supposed to be conducting a phone interview. His PR tribe are courteous and patient – beaming at him like a gifted offspring – but teeth are being gently gritted. Tom seems to want to interact with everyone,
touch everything – a kind of natural preoccupied purgatory somewhere between E and e-numbers. It’s essential to what makes him so captivating on stage, of course; the only rock band frontman still deemed Radio 1-worthy, judging by last month’s guitar- unfriendly Hackney Weekend bill. In contrast to his stimulation-seeking
bandmate, Sergio ‘Serge’ Pizzorno hardly moves a muscle during our 40-minute solo interview. He sits with his wiry frame stooped forwards, elbows on thighs. His sentences are gradually offered, his hands clasped together in contemplation. Serge has remained amused by and protective of
Tom’s antics ever since the pair were 11 years old: it’s perhaps fitting that a man with the patience of a saint uses a crucifix as a key cornerstone of his Robert Plant-gone-goth get-up.
You told Music Week last year you were worried by the lack of new bands topping festival bills. Other than Jack White, you were pretty much the only guitar act at Hackney. Who’s to blame? I don’t know if this is going too deep into it, but it’s almost as if because you can make music at home now, you get producers in their bedrooms using guest vocalists. The whole mates meeting at school not wanting to do real jobs and forming a band thing is old-fashioned. And maybe with the bands out there, it’s not cool to try and be big. We certainly grew up in an era when the only thing to be was massive. But we’re an odd fit: on paper, we shouldn’t be huge. With the tunes we release and the attitude and the albums we make, we shouldn’t be massive.
You’ve never been embarrassed about playing the biggest stages… Definitely. We’ve always appreciated the fact that effectively,
when you’re on stage, you’re entertaining. It sounds sick, it’s kind of a sick word – even saying it makes me feel a bit awkward. But it is true: you work hard, you pay your money to see a band and when you’re standing there you want to be fucking blown away. We’ve always understood that dynamic: people are there to see a show. Let’s make sure they go away saying: “That was incredible. I feel fucking reborn.” I’m not sure that could be said for many new bands.
We’re in the age where comment is everywhere. Perhaps people grow up far more self-conscious about their art these days – and from there, if they’re picked on, the defensive options are to say “you just don’t get it” and stay niche, or try and please every single person and be rubbish… That is true. You have to take it on the chin. You have to accept that people are going to think you’re a complete cunt. But it’s better to buzz off that and wear it as a badge and say: “I am a cunt. So what? So are you.” I don’t have a personal Twitter, I never read reviews anymore. That way, I protect myself from caring about what everyone else thinks. I mean, who leaves a nice comment? Most of the time, if you’re watching something – and I’m guilty
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